The Assassin's Nice
by Mayle
Summary: John Watson knows what it's like to follow around a mad genius. Sebastian Moran knows what it's like to follow around a mad genius. With so much in common, how could they not talk?
1. Chapter 1

"Do you always do everything he says?" John questioned the man.

The man glanced up at John from the strapping of the bomb. Something flinted across his face before he returned to wiring the bomb to John. John sighed.

"I understand, you know," John said, "I don't get told to wire bombs to people, but I pretty much do whatever Sherlock asks me to."

"Oh?" the man looked up again.

"Yeah, why do we do that?" John commented, more to himself than the man, "It's like we have some sort of suicidal need to follow them. Or at least I know I do. I have no idea why, but that first time he asked me to go with him I just automatically said yes. I was ready to go. I guess I'm some sort of adrenaline junkie and he provides adrenaline."

"Not as much as Jim, I bet," the man answered.

John laughed at that.

"No, probably not," John agreed, "How long you been with him?"

The man blushed and looked back to the bomb.

"I'm not _with _him," the man muttered, "He's married to his work."

"Ha, that's what mine said," John laughed, "Those exact words, actually."

The man looked back up.

"Really?" he asked, cocking his head sideways.

"Yes, really," John answered, nodding, "I wasn't even trying to ask him out or anything."

"They are a lot alike," the man admitted, shrugging, "They should just shag already and leave us out of it."

The man looked back to the bomb and starting doing stuff with wires again.

"That would be nice," John commented.

The man looked up with a smirk on his face.

"That's not what I meant!" John said, rolling his eyes, "I meant it would be nice if they left us out of it."

"Mmm-hmm," the man said, clearly amused, "Whatever you say, Doc."

He returned to wiring the bomb and John couldn't help but smile a bit. This guy was actually pretty nice. Sure, he was a trained assassin and all that, but who was John to judge? The man had clearly been with Moriarty a long time. John could tell by the way he never protested an order, but merely rolled his eyes when Moriarty wasn't looking. The man was tall. Taller than John, but then again, who wasn't taller than John? He had sandy hair that hung in his eyes. John wondered why he didn't cut it considering he was a sniper and all. He also had this awful, ugly scar that ripped across his cheek. John studied the man, wishing he could see what Sherlock saw when he looked at a person. The man's eyes flicked up to look at him again.

"What?" he questioned, "Why are you staring at me?"

"Just noting how handsome you are," John answered.

It wasn't exactly a lie, because John really had noticed how handsome the man was.

"Oh, really?" the man said sarcastically.

John smiled down at him in a reassuring way.

"Yes, really," he answered.

The man's face reddened slightly as his green eyes flicked back down to the bomb. John smiled as he realized the man's eyes were green. _A nice electrifying green, _John thought. The man seemed to notice that John was staring because he looked back up again.

"You really think I'm handsome?" he asked in a small voice.

"Of course," John answered brightly, "Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

"No," the man stated.

"Well, you are, you're very handsome," John said firmly.

The man seemed to struggle with the words for a moment.

"Thank you," the man said.

"You're absolutely welcome," John said brightly.

"You're entirely too cheerful for someone getting a bomb wired to him," the man said, shaking his head.

"It's probably because I haven't quite realized it yet," John said, "Or else the adrenaline is making me giddy. Anyway, where are you from?"

"Nowhere," the man answered bluntly.

Then he went back to the bomb and John briefly wondered how long it was going to take. A few moments of awkward silence later, the man stood and picked up a large green parka that was hanging over a nearby chair. He slipped it on John without moving from his spot. John looked up at him as the man pulled the two sides together across his front. He didn't zip it up. Instead he just stood there for a moment, holding the two sides together.

"You can put your arms down now, Doc," he said quietly, his hands letting go, "Jim wants you to put your hands in the pockets. It's supposed to look like you're him for a brief moment. Don't ask me why. I'm not the genius psychopath."

He turned and started walking away. John desperately tried to think of a way to keep him there.

"What's your name?" he called.

The man looked back over his shoulder with a smirk.

"Sebastian," the man answered.

"Good to meet you, Sebastian," John answered brightly, "I'm John."

Sebastian paused, an amused look filling his face.

"Good to meet you too, John," he said quietly.

Then he left, leaving John feeling rather disappointed. He stared at the door Sebastian had walked through and wondered if he'd meet him again. He really hoped he would. Sebastian did seem like a really nice guy. He smiled briefly before he suddenly realized the man had been strapping him with a bomb. He shook his head and laughed at himself. _Hey, just because he straps people with bombs doesn't mean he's not nice! _He thought, laughing a little harder. Then he smacked a hand to his forehead and told himself to quit acting so weird.

* * *

**Little note: I'm doomed to go to hell anyway, so I might as well make it fun!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Jim says to tell Holmes Happy Birthday. –SM_

John read through the text several times before he grasped what was happening.

"Sherlock!" he called to the man, who was somewhere in the kitchen.

Sherlock's head popped around the corner, he looked annoyed and his goggles were hastily pushed up.

"What?" he demanded.

"Sebastian's just sent me a text," John said in response, "He says that Jim says Happy Birthday."

Sherlock's eyebrows came together.

"It isn't my birthday," he stated, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

John shrugged and looked back at the text. He smiled slightly and sent one back.

_What's the "M" stand for? _

Several moments later his phone beeped and he grinned.

_Moran. _

John stared at the name for a few minutes.

"Sebastian Moran," he mumbled, tasting the name.

He smiled and sent another text.

_Sebastian Moran. I like it._

John waited for another text, checking his phone every five seconds. It finally beeped after about a minute.

_Thank you. John Watson isn't so bad either. _

_ That's Doctor John Watson to you. _

_ I think I can live with that, Doc._

_ I think I can too. But you know, you can just call me John._

_ Ok, John it is then._

John debated about what to say in return and how to keep Sebastian talking, but the phone beeped again.

_And you can call me Seb._

_ Is that what your friends call you?_

_ I don't have friends._

_ You have me._

_ Are you my friend?_

_ Yes._

_ Then call me Seb and that's what my friends call me._

_ Is that what Moriarty calls you?_

There was a long pause and John wondered if he'd said the wrong thing.

_No, he calls me dog._

_ Why would he do that? Wait...Never mind. It's Moriarty._

_ What does Holmes call you?_

_ Just John._

_ Lucky._

_ I guess._

_ Can I ask you something, John?_

_ Yes. _

_ Why are you talking to me?_

_ Because I like you._

_ But you don't even know me._

_ I guess that's true, but what I've seen I like._

_ Are you saying you like me physically?_

John blushed at that text and it took him several moments to text back.

_Yes, but you also seem like a good person._

_ I'm a professional assassin... _

_ Does that automatically mean you're a bad person?_

_ I don't know…_

_ Well, I don't think so._

Seb didn't text back after that. John wait for quite a while, keeping his phone clutched in his hand, but he didn't text. He curled up on his arm chair and stared at the phone, willing the other man to text him.

"Who are you so infatuated with?" Sherlock questioned from behind him.

John jumped violently and twisted around, shoving his phone in his pocket.

"No one!" he snapped.

"You think I'd be upset," Sherlock stated, "So someone I know that I don't like. Well, that hardly narrows it down, since I don't like many people. Must be someone I really don't like then. Hmm. Someone I consider an enemy perh-."

"Stop it!" John cried out, "Stop doing that! Don't deduce me like that!"

Sherlock blinked at John in shock.

"If I wanted you to know, I would've told you," John said shakily, "We're friends, Sherlock. You should respect my privacy more."

Sherlock looked confused for a moment, but then his face cleared.

"I apologize," Sherlock said simply.

He then turned away, leaving John to sulk. And sulk he did.

* * *

John felt like a teenage girl. His thoughts mostly consisted of "Why hasn't he text back?" and "Does he even like me?" He spent most of his time sulking about the flat, unwilling to go out in the sunshine because he was so miserable (not that there was sunshine in London anyway). Sherlock kept throwing glances at him that he replied to with death glares.

"Has she texted back yet?" Sherlock asked nervously one day.

John glared at him.

"That's a no then?" Sherlock said.

John continued to glare from over his arms (he was hiding behind his arms at the table).

"So then text her," Sherlock suggested, "Grab her attention by telling her she's pretty or something. That's what normal people do, right?"

John blinked, dropping his glare in surprise.

"That's surprisingly insightful, Sherlock," John said, a bit of sadness wearing off.

John picked up his phone and started typing out a text to Seb.

"I have good advice sometimes," Sherlock said smugly, "Are you going to ask her on a date?"

"Him, Sherlock, he's a him," John corrected absently.

Then he froze, his fingers stopping over the keys. His eyes rose slowly to look at Sherlock who seemed to be in a similar state of shock. Sherlock shook his head and cleared his throat. John blushed and went back to typing quickly.

"Very well, then," Sherlock said, recovering quickly, "Are you going to ask _him _on a date?"

John paused to think about that.

"I don't know if he does that sort of thing…" John thought out loud.

"Well, then ask him!" Sherlock said.

"But I don't even know if he's…" John cleared his throat and looked away.

John didn't see, but Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Then just ask if he's attracted you," Sherlock said in a frustrated tone, "Why is that so difficult?"

"But I don't want to make things awkward," John pointed out.

"You hardly see him anyway, so what's the difference?" Sherlock questioned.

John narrowed his eyes at him.

"How do you know I don't see him very often?" John questioned.

Sherlock looked guilty, clearly seeing his mistake.

"Er, sorry," Sherlock muttered awkwardly, "I deduced it on accident."

John sighed.

"It's ok," John said, "It's not like he'd be able to go on a date with me anyway."

"Why's that?" Sherlock asked with a pained voice.

John could see that he was restraining himself from making deductions.

"He's Moriarty's sniper," John answered honestly.

That's probably about the moment the shit hit the fan.


	3. Chapter 3

"John! What are you saying?!" Sherlock shouted.

John cowered slightly from Sherlock who looked rather pissed off.

"I just…he strapped a bomb to my chest…" John mumbled, "And I just sort of talked to him…and I don't know…I kind of like him."

Sherlock paced about angrily for a moment before he calmed down.

"This is flirting with danger, John," Sherlock said quietly.

"He seemed so nice though!" John said defensively.

"Oh yes," Sherlock said sarcastically, "The man was strapping a bomb to your chest and had guns pointed at us. Oh I'm sure he's just fantastic."

"Just because he listens to Moriarty, doesn't he's a bad guy!" John shouted, his own anger rising, "You of all people should know that you shouldn't judge a person so quickly!"

"Why me "of all people"?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Because, you prick, everyone judges you so quickly!" John snapped, "And hardly anyone gives you a chance! Well, maybe that's how Seb feels! Did you ever think that maybe Moriarty is the only one that would give him the time of day?! That maybe he was just lonely and bored and suddenly Moriarty bust into his life and showed him adventure again. Gave him something thrilling to do and be a part of. Picked him up and acted like he was worth talking to and giving his attention to. Doesn't that sound familiar, Sherlock?"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Sherlock demanded.

"Me, idiot!" John shouted, throwing his hands up, "Me and you! We're just like them! They're just like us! Just different sides of the glass."

Sherlock frowned at him for a moment.

"But you wouldn't kill someone-," he stopped mid-speech and looked away suddenly.

John gave a look that said "Took you long enough."

"Oh," Sherlock muttered, his eyebrows furrowed, "I suppose, you are correct."

"Yeah, so don't give me any more grief over it," John said, though his anger waned as fast as it had waxed, "I think I understand him a little more than you do."

"Then by all rights, I should understand Moriarty," Sherlock stated to the air.

"I guess so," John shrugged, "I think you can relate to him more than you want to admit."

"But, John," Sherlock said softly, his head turning to look at John, "I don't."

John felt his heart clench as the detective looked at him with lost eyes.

"Sherlock…" he whispered, trailing off.

The taller man stepped towards him until he was centimeters away.

"John," Sherlock said, "Teach me."

"Sherlock," John said sadly, "I don't know if I can."

"Please," Sherlock pressed, leaning forward and laying his forehead on John's.

"Sherlock, it's not that easy," John mumbled, "It's not like a skill that you can just learn. It's just a feeling. Just another way of deducing someone. I don't think that's something I can just teach you how to do."

Sherlock stopped John's rant by covering the shorter man's mouth. With his own. John stiffened in shock as Sherlock pulled his mouth away and looked back into his eyes.

"Please," Sherlock beseeched him.

John blushed furiously and leaned his head away from Sherlock.

"Sh-Sherlock, understanding someone isn't something I can teach you," he insisted, "I just don't think you realize that it's something you just-."

Sherlock pressed another brief and fluttery kiss to John's mouth.

"Please," he repeated in that pleading voice.

"Ok," John relented, his mind fuzzy.

There was another sacred kiss before Sherlock was gone, leaving John wobbling slightly.

* * *

"Just think about what you would do," John suggested to a very frustrated Sherlock, "If you were trying to get the attention of someone on the same level of intelligence as you, what would you do next?"

Sherlock's eyebrows came together for a moment before he leapt up and clapped his hands together. He strode over to where John sat and leaned down with a huge grin on his face. John smiled back at him, glad that Sherlock had finally figured out whatever had been bothering him for the past few days. Sherlock placed his hands on the arms of John's chair and leaned in close.

"You are brilliant," Sherlock said, his grin not fading.

Then he swooped down and pressed another sweet kiss to John's mouth. John's heart beat jumped quickly. Sherlock hadn't kissed him again since the time he was trying to get John to "teach him" how to understand Moriarty. Sherlock's lips were gone as quickly as they had come and he was rushing into his room, presumably to dress so they could go run after whatever lead Sherlock had in his head.

John thumped his head against the back of the chair, his eyes closing.

"Why me? why does it have to be mean?" he groaned, punctuating each word with another thump against his chair, "What did I ever do? Why?"

Suddenly, as his head came back down, it landed on something softer. His eyes snapped open in surprise. Sherlock's head was floating above him. John blinked rapidly. Sherlock's hands were pillowing John's head now, preventing him from beating it against the chair's back. Sherlock's eyes were filled with concern as he stared down at John. John's eyes flicked down to how Sherlock was leaning over him and then flicked back to the burning eyes that pinned him to the chair more effectively than Sherlock's body did.

"Do not hurt yourself," Sherlock commanded in an angry tone.

"Ok," John said weakly.

Sherlock moved away and went back toward his room. John watched in confusion, wondering what had brought on the suddenly tender moment. A ding from his pocket pulled him from his thoughts. He struggled for a moment before managing to get the damn thing in his hands. He nearly dropped it in shock when he read:

_Would you like to get a pint with me? –Seb_

John hesitated for two seconds before typing out a response.

_I'd love to! When and where? _

_ I'll pick you up in thirty minutes._

_ Ok! See you then!_

He put his phone away grinning. All thought of Sherlock's chaste little kisses were gone as he leapt up to get ready for going out with Seb.


End file.
